One Plus One Equals Three
by Herverus Grape
Summary: Written for the WIKTT 'Triangle' challenge. Snape is married and Hermione's not happy about it.
1. Chapter One

OPOET  
  
ONE PLUS ONE EQUALS THREE  
  
  
Chapter One  
  
  
She couldn't quite keep a smile from curling up the corners of her lips as she stood there, leaning against the stone wall of Flourish and Blotts and gazing out upon the crowd bustling around her. After all of the horror and uncertainty of the past year, it was infinitely comforting to her to see how absolutely normal this mob of parents and students appeared to be on the fine, late August day.  
  
Of course, she admitted to herself, Diagon Alley had always been one of her favorite places, and the busy day devoted to the collection of school supplies for the upcoming school year had always been one that she looked forward to with a great deal of happy anticipation.   
  
For a moment, her smile faded as she considered the fact that she had always been different from the majority of her classmates. She had no doubt that for most of them, it was the end of the school year that aroused their keenest excitement. For her, there had always been a slight let down upon the completion of the final exams, a vague but undeniable anxiety over the fact that for the long summer weeks there would be no assignments, tests or essays.   
  
Her unbounded enthusiasm for studying and thirst for knowledge were just two of the many things that had always set her apart from the others, she supposed. She had been gratified to earn the affection and respect of her parents and the vast majority of her teachers because of her scholarly inclination, and had always been justifiably proud of her abilities. But it was clearer to her as she grew older that it was also something that made most people feel quite uncomfortable in her presence. Knowing that she was also a very powerful witch may have contributed to their uneasiness, of course, as did the fact that she was Muggle-born. Although the vast majority of the wizarding world accepted her without question, she still sometimes wondered if she still wasn't at something of a disadvantage because she was not associated with the old ways and the established families.   
  
By now her expression had turned decidedly somber as she stared down at the sidewalk and considered the matter. She supposed that all children wanted to stand out in some way, to be counted as special. And yet, in your fantasies your uniqueness always generated approbation as well as notoriety. The fact of the matter was that, most of the time, talents that set one apart from others also tended to invoke feelings of envy and hatred much more readily than they aroused appreciation and affection.  
  
Trying to draw her mind away from this rather depressing train of thought, she returned her attention to the crowd rushing past her. She found herself smiling again as she searched through the sea of faces and expertly picked out which of the new students were Muggle-born. They were all doing their best to keep from appearing out of place, attempting not to look too astonished at the extraordinary sights and sounds that surrounded them. But every few seconds their eyes would fall upon something so spectacular, bewildering or wondrous that they would find themselves with their mouths gaping open in surprise. Their parents always gave themselves away as well: the shell-shocked look upon their faces and the way their brows furrowed in concentration as they attempted to convert the price tags from wizarding currency to pounds. Judging by the scowls upon the faces of the mothers and fathers, most of them were rapidly approaching the end of their patience.  
  
She felt her spirits lifting considerably as she contemplated the fact that it had taken her only a very short time to become acclimated to this world. In fact, her visits to the ostensibly 'normal' world was admittedly becoming less and less real to her.  
  
Who knew, she thought, shifting her feet slightly as she huddled back against the wall as the mob bustled past her, perhaps in another seven years one of these currently flabbergasted youngsters would find themselves in the same position as she was today-returning to Diagon Alley as an adult. But this time, she grinned, the school supplies she was gathering were those of her own choosing rather than items from a pre-ordained list. That was just one of the privileges that you earned when you were elevated from the rank of student to that of teacher.  
  
She dropped her eyes surreptitiously, unable to stop herself from peeking just one more time at the elegant gold lettering embossed upon the top of her briefcase.  
  
_"Professor Hermione Granger-Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."_  
  
The attaché, crafted of rich, soft and luxuriant leather, had been her parents' final gift to her as she prepared to leave the house this morning. It had definitely been a bittersweet parting, the knowledge that she was truly 'leaving home' this time making her departure especially significant to all of them. As much as a first job always seemed to be such an important step in anyone's life, this distinctive milestone marking the end of her childhood seemed decidedly momentous in her case. Although she intended to visit her parents regularly, she had gently declined her mother's invitation to spend the next summer, as usual, on holiday with them. From now on, she had told her, she intended to spend her summer break traveling by herself or doing research.   
  
It had been difficult to see the unshed tears gleaming in her mother's eyes as she had bid her farewell. Her parents had wholeheartedly declared their support of her decision to pursue a teaching career within the magical community rather than to attend a Muggle University. She had been rather surprised at their acceptance of her decision, but her father had admitted to her privately that she had seemed happier at Hogwarts than she had ever been at any of her previous schools, even with all the carnage and uncertainty of the past few years. So they had decided not to try and change her mind once she had announced her decision.  
  
Of course, she mused, as her fingers brushed against the gold lettering again, one reason that she had been so content at Hogwarts was because she had for first time developed some real and lasting friendships. It was going to be exceedingly strange to roam the familiar hallways of the castle without the two people who had been her constant companions.  
  
Harry was off in seclusion somewhere, attending to his bruised body and battered spirit, both of which had been taxed to the limit during his final battle with Lord Voldemort. He had decided to take a well-deserved rest from his exertions and retire from the scrutiny of the public spotlight. He had allowed no one to accompany him and Hermione had no doubt that it would be a while before he reappeared.  
  
Ron, on the other hand, was basking in the glow of his new-found celebrity, gaining a great deal of interest from the public as a new and talented member of the Chudley Cannons Quidditch team. Although he was still known in some circles primarily for being "Harry Potter's best friend," Hermione was hopeful that he would continue to become known as his own man as well.  
  
But as happy as she was for her friends, she had to admit that she was selfishly wishing that they could be with her today. It didn't seem right somehow that she was not meeting them for a butterbeer in "The Leaky Cauldron" or indulging in a delicious sundae on the patio of "Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor'. She felt her heart throb painfully for a moment as she glanced at the tables filled with smiling students, jabbering away merrily. It had become a tradition for them to meet and do their shopping together, sharing stories of their summer holidays as they threaded their way through the shops. Well at least, she allowed, shrugging her shoulders, this year she wouldn't have to stand behind them, her eyes glazed over in boredom as they endlessly debated the pros and cons of the latest, hideously expensive broom on display in the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies.  
  
But today she would even have gladly endured that, she had to admit. It was a strange feeling to suddenly feel so isolated while in the midst of such a mob of people. Besides the obviously new students, she had picked out many familiar faces, of course, But while they had nodded and waved to her in a friendly fashion, there was a certain reticence in their manner that was even more pronounced than it had been during her tenure as 'Head Girl'.  
  
She frowned and stared down at the tips of her shoes for a moment. She was immensely excited about becoming a teacher, but it was going to be strange to deal with her former classmates as a superior. On the other hand, she had no doubt that there would also be a period of awkward transition with her former professors who were now to be her colleagues. She supposed it would take a fair amount of time before she began to relax in their presence, and they in hers.   
  
Not that she had any reason to worry about that quite yet, she decided. As far as she could tell, she was the only teacher to be visiting the Alley today. Headmistress McGonagall had informed her that most of the staff would be returning to Hogwarts the week before September 1, a new tradition that she was quietly promoting. Apparently, Minerva was not going to continue Dumbledore's tradition that neither the students nor the teachers were introduced to the new staff members until the welcoming feast.  
  
At that thought, she could not prevent a sly smile from appearing upon her face. That had been one of the very few things that she, Harry and Ron had been able to depend upon during the uncertainty of the past tumultuous years. It had been rather comforting to know that, whoever the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was, Professor Snape could be counted upon to disapprove of the choice. They had rather looked forward to seeing how fiercely he could scowl and how high he could draw up his eyebrows to signify his immense disapproval of the choice. In fact, for the past two years they had taken to laughing openly at his expressions, their giggles hidden by the polite applause welcoming the new teacher. Perhaps, she thought, she had better perform an 'Uncheering Spell' upon herself before her first staff meeting to make sure she didn't chuckle out loud at Snape's reaction. But, on the other hand, it wasn't a good idea to make herself too depressed. He would probably not show any pleasure at her appointment either, and it wouldn't do to depress herself to the point where she would burst into tears in front of him.   
  
She frowned suddenly as she recalled Minerva's response to her last letter. Hermione had admitted that, while the task of assuming the role of Professor of Transfiguration was a challenge in itself, the thought of having to assume the responsibility of being Head of the Gryffindor House was an even more daunting task. She had inquired, as cryptically as she could, if any of the other houses would be undergoing staffing changes as well. She was sure that McGonagall would realize that while she expected to maintain a cordial relationship with Flitwick and Sprout, the Gryffindor/Slytherin relationship would undoubtedly be a markedly contentious one if Snape continued to head the infamous house of Salazar. The Headmistress' response, delivered by owl just before she left her parents house this morning, had been a brusque statement that 'no changes were anticipated at the present time.'  
  
Although she had been somewhat disheartened by the reply, she had also found herself strangely intrigued. The events of the past year had greatly increased Hermione's appreciation of the Potions Master's devotion and loyalty to Dumbledore. But she had certainly never seen any evidence that Snape derived the slightest enjoyment or satisfaction from teaching-other than the fact that it gave him the opportunity of deducting points from Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. With Voldemort defeated and Albus Dumbledore laid to his well-deserved rest, she honestly could not think of any reason for Snape to remain at the school.  
  
Perhaps, she allowed, she did not know the 'greasy-haired git' as well as she thought she did. She smiled again, the echo of that oft-repeated insult again reminding her of how often she had listened to Ron and Harry deride the man. And yet, she reprimanded herself, it was paramount that she adopt a more mature attitude. She was a teacher now, and if she wished for her colleagues to treat her with respect and common courtesy, she had better be prepared to return the favor.  
  
She glanced down at her watch and gasped in surprise as she realized what time it was. She had been standing there, daydreaming, for nearly half an hour now, and had only fifteen minutes to get to Madame Malkins to pick up her robes before they closed. With a disgusted shake of her head, she abruptly turned and prepared to propel herself through the crowd.   
  
Unfortunately, her hasty and unexpected movement meant had placed her directly in the path of someone who was walking, quite briskly, in the opposite direction. Hermione found the time to utter a brief cry of surprise, but both parties were moving so quickly that their momentum continued to drive them forward, leaving them unable to avoid the collision. A moment later she found herself soundly deposited upon the pavement, rump-first. The man reeled backwards but managed, by a rather undignified flapping motion of his arms, to remain upright. The crowd around them was suddenly stilled and silent, although the expressions of the students were quickly moving from shock to amusement at the sight of Professor Snape glaring down at a stunned and flustered Hermione Granger.  
  
"I-I'm sorry," she sputtered, awkwardly trying to stand while simultaneously dusting the edges of her robes. She supposed that there was a great deal of dirt upon her backside as well, but decided it would be rather undignified to brush it off in full view of the crowd. "I didn't see you."  
  
"That would appear to be obvious," replied Snape. He flicked an annoyed glance at the onlookers. "Move on!" he growled, waving his hand angrily. Instantly, the grins on the onlookers faces disappeared and within just a few seconds the crowd has dispersed.  
  
"I am sorry," she repeated, her discomfiture amplified by the guilt she felt, given that she had just been thinking rather unkind thoughts about the man in front of her.   
  
"So you have already said, Miss Granger" he noted, bending down suddenly to retrieve something from the pavement.   
  
To her chagrin, she realized that she had dropped the briefcase, and that his right eyebrow had shot skyward as he straightened up and made a show of reading the inscription.  
  
"I beg your pardon, _Professor_ Granger," he corrected himself, holding the case out to her in his left hand as he idly brushed off the front of his cloak with his right. His robe appeared to be pristinely clean as usual, but there was something in his movements that suggested he considered himself somewhat contaminated by their brief collision and wanted to ensure that he had managed to erase any trace of their encounter.  
  
She reached out for the case and her embarrassment suddenly evaporated, and would have been replaced by anger at the distinctly disdainful tone of his voice and the rudeness of his manner had she not instead been shocked into silence. For there, gleaming upon the third finger of his left hand, was a ring. A large gold band, to be precise, and its appearance and location left no doubt what it signified. She found herself staring at it, unwilling to believe her eyes.  
  
"You appear to be surprised, Professor," he drawled.  
  
She blinked and belatedly accepted the briefcase from his hand. She stood hugging the attaché with both hands, her mouth moving wordlessly for a moment as Snape took a step backward and crossed his arms over his chest.  
  
"I take it you had not heard the news of my marriage?" he chided. Shaking his head, he smiled nastily and continued, "Dear me, I always thought you prided yourself on knowing everything, Professor."  
  
"I've been on holiday with my parents," she suddenly blurted out. "And I decided not to subscribe to the Daily Prophet this summer." She stopped abruptly, clamping her teeth down upon her lip. She was humiliated enough as it was, no need to continue to keep babbling on to him, telling him that she had wanted to spend the last few weeks with her parents exclusively in the Muggle world.  
  
A strange expression had passed briefly over his face as he listened to her. "Yes, that is obvious," he replied, his lip curling in derision.  
  
She stared up at him, wondering what was so obvious about it. But before she could formulate a reply, he had nodded his head curtly and moved past her.  
  
"Good day, Professor," he muttered as he hurried away.  
  
"Oh, yes, good day Professor Snape," she called after him. "And congratulations!" she added, hastily. She stared at the sight of his black-robed figure gliding through the crowed and rapidly retreating down the street. He gave no sign of having heard her.  
  
She sighed and consulted her watch again. If she wished to make it to Madam Malkins in time, she would have to apparate there. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on the spell. But after just a moment she opened her eyes and began to walk down the street instead. She would have plenty of time in the morning to get her robes, she reasoned. Right now, what she really wanted was a drink-something about the unexpected encounter with Snape had left her feeling curiously unsettled.  
  
She made her way to one of the back tables in the dark, smoky barroom, suddenly blessing the fact that she was alone. She had no doubt that Ron and Harry would be as surprised as she was to find out that Snape was married. Though the initial shock would wear off soon and she could just imagine the boys making rude comments and vulgar jokes about who would be unlucky or unpleasant enough to agree to marry _him_. If they were here, she would have undoubtedly joined in the fun. And yet, she mused, chewing on her lip, there was something about the whole situation that made her feel uneasy.  
  
"Good evening, Miss!"  
  
With a start, she realized that Tom the bartender had appeared beside the table.  
  
"What can I get you?" he asked, with his usual toothless grin.  
  
"A butterbeer," she answered, automatically.   
  
The man had nodded his head and turned away before she suddenly corrected herself.  
  
"No, I'll have an Ogden's Firewhiskey instead," she said.  
  
He turned back and regarded her with some surprise. "Of course, Miss." For a moment he wavered, seeming suddenly concerned about her. "Is there anything else I can get you?"  
  
"No. I mean yes." She took in a deep breath. "Has the 'Evening Prophet' arrived yet?"  
  
He smiled again. "Why, yes, Miss, it's just been owled to us. I'll bring you a copy."  
  
She nodded and found herself drumming her fingertips impatiently against the table until he returned.  
  
"Here you are," he said, setting the glass and paper down on the table before her. "Though there's not much news tonight," he murmured, in an almost apologetic manner. " 'course there hasn't been much since 'You-know-who' was defeated. Thanks to your friend," he added.  
  
"Yes," she replied, distractedly. As much as she loved Harry, she was in no mood to discuss him at the moment. "Thank you," she said, reaching out for the paper with both hands. Tom took the hint graciously and turned back to his duties without another word.  
  
She scanned the front page and found herself uttering a cry of exasperation. Indeed there seemed to be a dearth of newsworthy items. Though of course, she amended, most of the wizarding world would have found the Quidditch World Cup to be front page news no matter what else was happening. No doubt the continuation of the sport as usual signaled that, despite the horror of the recent war, some things never changed. One person's Diagon Alley was another's World Cup, she supposed.  
  
She took a sip of the whiskey and forced herself to skim through the articles, looking to see if a certain Quidditch player named Ron Weasley was mentioned. But it appeared that the Chudley Cannons had not made it to the final round, for she saw no reference to either him or his team. Taking another swallow of her drink, she turned the page and found herself chuckling softly. Apparently she had been mistaken. For there was a picture of Ron waving back to her and grinning happily. She bent down to read the caption.  
  
"The Chudley Cannons keeper Ron Weasley bravely tries to hide his disappointment that his supposed best friend, the celebrated Harry Potter, was too busy brooding to make an appearance at the Quidditch World Cup"  
  
Hermione closed her eyes and, with a sigh, leaned back in her chair. There was only one reporter in the world who would dare write such a patently obvious load of rubbish.  
  
"Rita Skeeter strikes again," she thought to her herself as she shook her head.  
  
Opening her eyes, she reached for her glass and took a hearty swallow, steeling herself to read through the whole of the accompanying article. Fortunately for her, she had gulped down the burning liquid before returning her attention to the paper. Had her mouth been full, she would have ended up splattering the page with the liquid as she read:  
  
"SEEKING A SEEKER-CANNONS CATASTROPHE BLAMED ON POTTER'S ABSENCE"  
  
_Exclusive to the Evening Prophet by Special Correspondent Rita Skeeter-Snape  
_  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

OPOET 3  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter 2  
  
She stood staring down at the caption for a very long time, her eyes glued to the newspaper as she continued to read the byline over and over again and she was vaguely aware of the strange fact that she suddenly felt rather cool and clammy.  
  
_Rita Skeeter-Snape_.   
  
She tried to convince herself that she was mistaken. After all, although her former Professor was the only one of her personal acquaintance to bear that surname, it certainly didn't mean that he might not have an extended family of which she had no knowledge. That thought brought to her mind the image of a houseful of scowling and cantankerous witches and wizards, all adorned with large, hooked noses and greasy black hair, sneering at each other. Perhaps, she told herself, the venomous journalist had married one of Snape's cousins or something. But that faint hope dissolved in a moment as the memory of the afternoon sun glinting off of the broad golden band adorning Snape's third finger of his left hand popped back into her head. It was all well and good to tell yourself not to jump to conclusions, but logically the fact that Snape admitted he was married and was quite surprised that she hadn't known about it fitted perfectly into the assumption that he was the one providing Rita with her new surname.   
  
"Something wrong, Miss?"  
  
She started and glanced up at Tom, who had returned to the table and was eyeing her with a great deal of concern.  
  
"Of course not," she said hastily, suddenly realizing that she was still holding the glass of whiskey up in midair. As she frowned and replaced the drink back down on the table, the bartender nodded in understanding and pointed towards the paper.  
  
"That was quite a shock, wasn't it?" he clucked, sympathetically.  
  
"Well," she hesitated, clearing her throat and shrugging her shoulders, "I don't know if shock is exactly the right word for it, but it is definitely-" She paused again and frowned down at the paper before continuing. "Quite a surprise," she finished, lamely.  
  
"Yes, indeed," agreed Tom, nodding his head. Placing his hands upon his hips, he continued, "Never thought I'd see the day that it would happen," he confided, dropping his voice to a whisper.  
  
"No, " she answered, feeling a sudden relief that she could talk to someone about this rather strange turn of affairs.   
  
"The Chudley Cannons getting into the Quidditch World Cup and then being eliminated in the first round!" There was a definite tone of disgust and shock in the old man's voice.  
  
"Oh...yes!" she cried, her exclamation covering her awkward realization that she and the bartender were speaking of two different things. "A real shame," she added hurriedly.  
  
"But don't you be blaming your friends, eh?" he added, wagging a finger at her.  
  
"My friends?" she answered.  
  
"Yeah, young Weasley has the makin's of a fine player, but to be tossed into that kind of competition during your first season-no wonder he had a bit of trouble!"  
  
"Yes," she agreed, nodding her head and hoping that she could think of a tactful way to get out of this conversation as soon as she could. The only thing that was more boring than watching a Quidditch match was talking about it.  
  
"And if Harry Potter, the lad who lived and destroyed 'You-Know-Who' needs a bit of time off, who are we to criticize him?" demanded Tom, warming to his subject.  
  
"Oh, exactly," she answered, her mind searching frantically for a way to politely get rid of the man again so that she could return her attention to the paper.   
  
"You sure you wouldn't rather have a butterbeer?" he said suddenly, pointing to her relatively untouched glass of whiskey.  
  
"Er, no, I'm fine," she said and then felt a bit of inspiration. She leaned forward and gave him a large, apologetic smile. "But I suppose I really shouldn't be drinking this on an empty stomach," she whispered.  
  
"Can I bring you a sandwich then?" Tom asked, brightly.  
  
"Oh, yes," she answered, happily.  
  
"We've got turkey, chicken, corned beef tonight," he offered.  
  
"Turkey sounds wonderful," she said, and breathed a sigh of relief as he turned and went towards the kitchen to place the order. During the short time it took for him to come back out carrying a tray, the tavern had begun to fill up rapidly. To her delight, he merely placed the plate and the small piece of parchment which was her bill in front of her and murmured his apologies before scurrying off to attend to his other customers. Propping the newspaper up against the salt and pepper shakers, she began to munch distractedly upon her sandwich as she returned her attention to reading the article.  
  
She found herself snorting in disgust, her eyebrows knitted into a frown as she read through the story. She was sure that Ron had said that he and the team had been thrilled to even make it to the Cup. No doubt he had added that they had missed Harry and that, of course, his presence would have assured them a better showing in the match. But he also knew that if it had been physically possible, his best friend would have been there. As usual, Rita Skeeter-Snape had twisted his words and put her own unique spin on the story in order to make it sound as though he was bitter and angry over the whole matter and blamed their "humiliating defeat" (two words that Hermione was sure Ron had never spoken) upon a feckless and selfish teammate who hadn't even bothered to show up or owl a word of encouragement when he was needed the most. There were several references to "Weasley's flaming red hair" which was likened to 'the color of an exceedingly incendiary howler". On the whole, Ron was portrayed as being dangerously upset over the whole incident, to the point of becoming mentally unhinged. And there were a few not-so-discreet hints scattered about the article insinuating that the whole episode was going to have a lasting and scarring effect upon his young psyche and probably sabotage his whole Quidditch career. Of course every word of this tripe was belied by how remarkably relaxed and happy he appeared to be in the accompanying picture.   
  
Hermione found herself chuckling as she reached to take another drink of her whiskey. A rather nasty thought had just occurred to her. If Rita Skeeter-Snape really wanted to see what a seriously angry Weasley looked like, she was probably going to find out once Molly had gotten her hands on the article.  
  
With a sigh, she forced herself to read the rest of the story and found herself frowning again as her eyes fell upon a sentence in which Rita spoke of "Weasley's pretty and vivacious young girlfriend" Gabrielle Delacour. That prompted a fresh grunt of disgust as she rolled her eyes. No doubt Fleur Delacour had accompanied her fiancee, Bill Weasley, to the match and her younger sister had tagged long as well. Leave it to Rita's vivid imagination to turn that chance encounter into evidence of a torrid love affair, she thought disdainfully.  
  
Folding the paper carefully, she glanced up and realized that the room had gotten even more crowded while she had been reading the article. She hurriedly gobbled down the rest of her sandwich and took another large swallow of the Firewhiskey as she debated what she should do. She had intended to Floo herself to 'The Three Broomsticks" in Hogsmeade and walk on to Hogwarts from there, but she now doubted whether she wanted to make that journey tonight only to have to retrace her steps tomorrow. On the other hand, she had no wish to reappear upon her parents' doorstep tonight after the painful farewell of this morning. After a moment, she came to a decision and rose to her feet, pushing her way through the crowd until she managed to get to the bar and catch Tom's eye again.  
  
"Everything all right, then?" he asked cheerfully, holding out his hand to take the bill and the handful of coins from her.  
  
"Fine, Tom, fine, but I wondered-" she hesitated for a moment and glanced around the packed room. "I don't suppose you have any vacancies tonight?" she asked, her voice hesitant and doubtful.  
  
Tom's smile widened. "As a matter of fact, we just had a cancellation," he assured her. "It's our smallest room though, up on the top floor," he added apologetically. "But it's cheaper too-only five Galleons a night," he explained.  
  
"That'll be fine," she answered, in relief.  
  
"Well, then, let's make it official," he said, reaching underneath the bar to retrieve an inkwell and a battered ledger. "Just sign here," he prompted, pointing to a spot on the parchment as he produced a quill.   
  
Hermione had already retrieved the additional coins out of her pocket and stacked them next to the book. She took the key in her left hand as she scribbled her name in the appropriate spot.  
  
"And if you tell me where your trunk is," Tom added, producing a wand out of his apron pocket, "I'll send it there directly."  
  
"Oh," she exclaimed, feeling slightly flustered as she set the quill down. "I don't have any luggage with me-just my briefcase."  
  
For the briefest of moments she felt a flush spread across her face as Tom blinked rapidly and then dropped his eyes to the counter as he began to scrub away at a non-existent spot. She suddenly had the uncomfortable feeling that that barkeep now suspected that she had obtained the room in order to have an assignation.   
  
"You see," she hastened to explain, "I had sent everything else on ahead and had planned on flooing over to Hogwarts tonight, but I arrived too late to pick up my robes from Madam Malkins."  
  
"Oh," said Tom, smiling again.  
  
"Yes, and I suppose," she said, frowning slightly as another thought occurred to her, "That I really should send an owl to Headmistress McGonagall to let her know I won't be arriving until tomorrow." Luckily, she added to herself, she had also provided for Crookshanks to be delivered along with the trunks to Hogsmeade and was already in Hagrid's care. As much as Hermione herself detested traveling via floo powder, she was not foolish enough to attempt it while holding a howling, hissing cat in her arms.  
  
"We keep a few owls here," Tom replied, jerking a thumb towards a small room. "We ask the local crowd to pay a small fee to use them, but they're free for our guests."  
  
"Thanks," she said as she pocketed the key and, picking up her briefcase, headed into the small cubicle. Three sleepy-looking owls were settled upon their perches and a tiny desk holding parchment, ink and a quill sat upon it, along with a small jar filled with knuts and sickles. Hermione pulled a sheet of the paper towards her and quickly wrote out a short note apologizing for the delay and promising to be at the school by tomorrow afternoon at the latest. She folded the parchment carefully and moved to tie it onto the leg of the nearest owl. In response, the owl gave a loud hoot and ruffled its feathers in a most indignant manner. She stared at it for a moment, perplexed by its behavior until she realized that it was staring down at the jar of coins. With a small smile, she dug the room key out of her pocket and held it out towards the owl's large orange eyes. The bird gave another hoot, sounding much happier now and seemingly reassured that she was allowed to use the free postal service.   
  
"Headmistress McGonagall at Hogwarts, please," she asked, and in a moment the owl had spread its wings and swooped out of the open window.  
  
With a small sigh, she turned and made her way down the hallway to the small, creaking staircase. The last time she had stayed at the Leaky Cauldron had been when she had stayed here with the Weasleys and Harry just before the start of her third year at Hogwarts. Their rooms must have been on one of the lower floor, for it seemed as if there were many more flights of stairs than she had remembered, and she found herself grateful for the fact that she had nothing heavier than her attaché to carry up with her. Finally she reached the uppermost landing and found herself having to squint in the dim light to make out what room number was imprinted upon the key. After finally deciphering a faint "6F' stamped upon the ancient, worn surface she turned her attention to identifying the correct door. This proved to be much easier, as someone had recently repainted all of the numbers. She found, to her surprise, that the room opposite hers was not only embossed with the letters "6E" but also the words "Bridal Suite," along with a rather garish depiction of a pudgy, grinning Cupid.  
  
Upon entering her room she called out _"Lumos!"_ and could see, as the lamps flickered to life that Tom had been telling the truth. The room was quite small-the double bed, tiny table and small bureau that were crowded into it left little room for an occupant. On the other hand, it was clean and she only needed it for the night. She locked the door behind her and placed the briefcase upon the table as she yawned tiredly and kicked the shoes off of her feet. Her fingers had already begun to undo the buttons of her blouse before she frowned and wondered what she should do about the fact that she had no nightgown. She peeled off the shirt and tossed it onto the bed and then divested herself of her skirt, slip and brassier as well, folding them into a careful pile next to the attaché. It was a warm enough night to sleep as she was, of course, but she had never been terribly comfortable sleeping without pajamas. A sly smile broke out on her face. Perhaps it was because of the proximity of the Bridal Suite, but she suddenly had the impulse to transfigure a lovely negligee for herself. After all, she _was_ a Professor of Transfiguration. A moment later she had retrieved her wand, and with a well-aimed flick of the wrist the sensible white cotton blouse was transfigured into a long and gauzy nightdress. She shrugged it on and although she lacked a full-length mirror in which to appraise it, felt pleased with her choice. Undoing the latch on the briefcase, she searched inside one of the inner pockets for a hair band, which she used to tie back her bushy brown hair. She pulled a small pad out of the case, and then snapped the lid down again. She piled the pillows against the headboard and then folded the quilt and blankets down to the foot of the bed. Propping her back against the cushions, she sat down upon the bed and went over her lesson plans again.  
  
She especially wanted to make a real impression upon the new students, she thought. But there was no way she could top Professor McGonagall's trick of showing up as a tabby cat on the first day of classes. She would sit placidly gazing out of her green eyes while the students trouped in and began to loudly wonder where their instructor was until they were stilled into silence by her sudden transformation back into human form. Despite years of trying, Hermione still had not managed to pull off an Animagus transformation. She refused to admit total defeat, as she was not yet certain if her failure was due to the fact that she was incapable of it, or if she simply had not yet stumbled upon the appropriate animal form. A part of her had always wanted to ask Sirius exactly how he and the other Marauders had managed the difficult task without formal instruction.. But she had never quite gotten up the nerve to approach him on the subject-and now it was far too late to do so, of course. Both he and James were dead and although Pettigrew was serving a life sentence in Azkaban and seemed extremely eager to cooperate with all the authorities, she had no desire to question him on the matter.  
  
A small hiss of disdain escaped from her lips. If Peter Pettigrew and Rita Skeeter could manage to transform themselves into Animagi, she rather suspected that she should be able to do so.   
  
Rita Skeeter-_Snape_, she corrected herself.  
  
With a frown, she lowered the pad to her lap and marvelled again at the strange and unlikely pairing. For a moment, she wondered if there was any chance that Snape was an unregistered animagus as well, and found herself speculating upon what animal form he would be most likely to take. There had always been something decidedly bat-like about him, of course. But if the image of a dark, lean and lanky Snape beside a short, squat Rita Skeeter wasn't incongruous enough, the thought of a bat and a beetle coexisting was even more absurd. Although, she mused, there was something strangely satisfying about imagining a bat-Snape pouncing down and devouring a bug-shaped Rita.   
  
And then she found herself wondering again just what Harry and Ron were going to say when they heard about the marriage. She supposed they might say that two such unpleasant people deserved each other. Or that they probably got along well with each other because they were both so nasty to every one else. But really, that wasn't true. If being hateful or disagreeable were the only prerequisite for Snape to form an alliance with someone, he and Professor Umbridge would have gotten along much better than they had. Instead, they had merely tolerated each other for most of her tenure at Hogwarts before the relationship had degenerated into mutual and open loathing. So the mere fact that Rita had always been mean and spiteful didn't guarantee that Snape would like her. In fact, for the life of her Hermione still could not imagine that Rita Skeeter would be his 'type' of woman at all. Although to be honest she couldn't recall his appearing to be attracted to anyone  
  
On the other hand-she suddenly sat upright as she remembered the events of her fourth year at Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy had gleefully spoken to the interviewer in her animagus form and she somehow doubted the fact that, as head of Slytherin House, Snape had been entirely ignorant of the processes she used to gather her information. And when he had discovered that horrible article that Rita had written about the supposed love triangle between herself, Ron and Harry, he had taken great delight in reading it out loud to the whole Potions class.   
  
She frowned and wondered if that was how they had become attracted to one another. No, she decided, as a faint shiver ran through her. If she and Snape had been 'friendly' at the time, he would surely have been more concerned about her sudden disappearance. Additionally, she was sure Rita would have complained about her behavior and Snape would have been in a perfect position to exact retribution upon her for imprisoning the woman in beetle form and holding her captive for a fair amount of time. Perhaps they had simply known each other for years, maybe they had even been classmates at one time?  
  
No, she thought, shaking her head as she considered the question. She had always doubted that Rita had been telling the truth when she admitted to being forty-three at the time of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, feeling that the witch had shaved more than a few years off of her true age. Snape would have only been in his mid-thirties at the time. Although, she hastened to tell herself, it was horribly prejudiced to consider that a large difference in ages given the expanded life expectancies of witches and wizards. It simply precluded the possibility that they had met at school.  
  
The thought of the school brought her back to the problem of her first lesson. But she barely begun to read through her notes again before her mind drifted back to Snape. His introductory speech had certainly made an impression upon her. But she would rather like her own words to serve as a form of rebuttal to his oratory. Perhaps she should demonstrate that transfiguration was so much more than "silly wand waving". It was an artful balancing act requiring a combination of muscle control, focusing of magical ability and a keen understanding of the nature of that which you were transfiguring.   
  
In the end, of all the classes that the Hogwarts students were required to take, Charms and Transfiguration really ended up being of the most use, since they were the things that most people used on a day-to-day basis. Arithmancy, Astrology and Care of Magical Creatures were interesting, of course, but only a select group of occupations actually used those skills on a routine basis. To be fair, most everyone _used_ potions, but very few people actually brewed their own, preferring to buy them pre-made. Not that she wouldn't have felt a good deal of satisfaction in becoming a skilled Potions Mistress herself. But considering Snape's attitude towards her in the classroom she had never seriously considered pursuing that occupation.  
  
She stared down at her notes again for a minute or two and then found herself fighting off another yawn. Sighing wearily, she closed the book and tossed it onto the nearby table. Extinguishing the light with a whispered, _"Nox!"_, she pulled up the covers and snuggled down in the bed, deciding that she still had plenty of time to come up with an interesting bit of transfiguration to show the new students.  
  
But the various questions that had been nagging at her continued to dog her in her sleep, for she found herself dreaming that she was teaching the first years how to turn beetles into buttons. But everyone was having great difficulty achieving the transformation, and in the midst of the lesson Professor Snape came storming into the classroom demanding to know where his wife was. She found herself suddenly remembering that one of the beetles had looked rather familiar, being fat and round and with strange markings around the antennae, but she wasn't quite sure which one it was. She was fairly certain, she told him, that she had not been among the unfortunate half a dozen or so who had been crushed to death when the novice witches and wizards had been too careless about how they aimed their wands. On the other hand, she admitted, she just might have been the one that Neville Longbottom Jr. had transfigured into a dish of mutton rather than a button. Unfortunately, the student seemed to have no idea how he had done it and she had so far been unsuccessful in reversing the spell. Snape had icily informed her that for a know-it-all witch she was spectacularly inept and that he intended to take the matter-and what was left of his wife-directly to the headmistress so that he could lodge a formal complaint. Picking up the plate, he turned and his heel and swept out of the room, ignoring Hermione's pleas that it was really best for him to leave her in the classroom until she had managed to return her to either bug or human form. After all, Mrs. Norris was prowling the halls and had looked quite hungry this morning...  
  
With a start, Hermione opened her eyes to find that there was bright sunlight streaming in through the windows. It took her a few seconds to remember where she was but when she did sat up in the bed and stretched. She might as well get an early start, she supposed. She needed to get a shower and then to perform a cleaning spell on her clothes before transfiguring the nightgown back into a blouse. Throwing back the covers, she arose and headed for the bathroom.  
  
About forty-five minutes, feeling much more awake and refreshed, she was latching her briefcase shut and preparing to leave the room when her ears caught the faint sound of something rustling outside in the hallway. Looking slightly puzzled, she walked to the door and pulled it open. Tom was just straightening up from placing a small tray of tea and toast on the floor just in front of her door.  
  
"Good morning, Miss," he said cheerily.  
  
"What's this?" she asked, blinking in surprise.  
  
"New service," he informed her, stepping back slightly to gesture down the hall, "For all of our guests."  
  
She leaned out of the doorway and saw that there was, indeed, a small tray sitting outside each of the doors. They were all identical to hers, she noted. Tom in the meantime had turned back to a small cart and was removing another, slightly larger tray. This one, she saw, held a much wider variety of food, including a large plate of sausages and eggs.  
  
"I see the Bridal Suite gets a little extra," she noted, with a smile.  
  
"Yes," he said, nodding his head. "Although it's all rather nice," he amended, in a slightly affronted tone.  
  
"Oh, yes," she agreed, "This is really quite nice. How long have you been doing this?"  
  
"Just a short time," he told her. He glanced up and down the hall for a moment, he took a step forward and whispered, "Actually, the management is anxious to keep the clientele happy," he confided. "The Leaky Cauldron is about to get some competition," he added, his voice dropping even lower.  
  
"You're joking!" she exclaimed, and then blushed as Tom gestured at her to lower her voice. "Who on earth would think of competing with this place?" she asked.  
  
Tom took another surreptitious look around the hallway before bending down to whisper, "Gilderoy Lockhart."  
  
Her mouth dropped open in surprise. The last she had seen of him, he had been wandering around St. Mungo's, still suffering the after-effects of a memory charm gone horribly wrong.  
  
"He's out of St. Mungo's then?" she asked.  
  
"Oh, yes," said Tom, nodding his head again. "Been out for most of the summer. Got well right after 'You-Know-Who' was defeated."  
  
Hermione struggled to keep a grin off of her face as she considered the possibility that the two events weren't completely coincidental. If Lockhart had begun to regain his memories, he might have thought it was prudent to pretend he was still a babbling amnesiac instead of someone who might be expected to join the resistance. It would be just like Lockhart to appear right after the threat had disappeared to proclaim what a shame he hadn't been there to defeat foe.   
  
"What does he know about running a hotel?" she protested.  
  
Tom shrugged his shoulders.   
  
Of course, she admitted to herself, lack of knowledge had never stopped him from boasting and posturing before.  
  
"That's right," said Tom slowly, "He was a teacher at Hogwarts for a while, wasn't he?"  
  
Hermione nodded her head and found herself thinking back about the night they had all gathered in the Great Hall for their first dueling lesson. The memory of Lockhart's golden hair and dazzling white smile flitted before her eyes for a moment, to be suddenly replaced by the image of him flying through the air and sliding down a wall after being hit by Snape's _'Expelliarmus'_ charm.  
  
"Yes," she replied, "He was-"  
  
But whatever she had intended to say flew out of her mind as the door across the hall opened and she caught the sight of Severus Snape standing in the doorway of the Bridal Suite, wearing a garishly bright yellow robe. The color, it must be admitted, would not have been complimentary to his skin tone under the best of circumstances. The moment his eyes had fallen upon Hermione, however, his normally pallid complexion took on a greenish cast which clashed horribly with his attire.  
  
" 'mornin Professor," called Tom with his usual measure of good cheer, seeming amazingly unconcerned about the Potions Master current state of dress-or undress. "The usual breakfast," he proclaimed loudly, pointing at the tray sitting on the floor. "Just like your missus always wants."  
  
Hermione found her eyes drifting downwards towards the tray but this time she found herself mesmerized by the sight of Snape's bare legs and feet. The toes, like his fingers, were thin and abnormally long and for some reason she was surprised to see that there was a large amount of dark, curly black hair covering his calves. Her gaze continued to move upward until she came to the hem of his robe, at which point she abruptly snapped her eyes back to his face. He stared back at her, his eyes glittering and cold.  
  
"Thank you." Somehow Snape managed to get those two syllables out of his mouth without appearing to either move his lips or his angrily clenched teeth.  
  
"Well, I'll be going then," said Tom hurriedly, belatedly sensing the tense atmosphere. "Lots of trays to deliver," he explained as he rummaged in his pocket for his wand. A moment later, with a loud cracking noise, both he and the cart had disappeared.  
  
The silence stretched on ominously.  
  
"Well," she said finally, wavering as she tried to decide if she should retreat back into her room or make a dash down the hallway. "Fancy running into you again," she murmured, regretting the banality of the phrase even as the words fell out of her lips.  
  
"Fancy," he replied, imbuing those two syllables with a wealth of sarcasm.   
  
There was another long and uncomfortable pause, during which Hermione realized that Snape's hands were coiled tightly at the front of his robe, his left hand looped about the belt while his right hand clutched angrily at the overlapping lapels of the robe. She suddenly realized that he had no intention of making the slightest movement while she was still standing there, least of all bend down and pick up the tray, for fear that she would catch a further glimpse of what lay underneath his robe.  
  
"_Severus!_"  
  
They both froze as the sound of a woman's voice wafted out into the hall. To be honest, it sounded more like "_SEVres_", for Rita's emphasis was definitely upon the first syllable, with the rest of the name spoken so quickly that it was almost unintelligible.  
  
"_SEVres_!" There was a definitely whining and irritating tone to the voice this time.   
  
Hermione found herself stepping backward into her room as she watched Snape close his eyes and take a deep swallow.   
  
"Just a moment!" he hissed, and Hermione saw his right hand reluctantly release its hold upon the fabric as he reached back and blindly searched for the door knob so that he could close the door behind him.   
  
But to no avail. For Rita Skeeter-Snape, wearing a matching yellow robe that managed to look even more hideous upon her than it did upon her husband, had appeared in the doorway. She looked strangely unfamiliar, and Hermione realized that it was the first time she had seen her without her eyeglasses. The makeup around her eyes was faded and smudged, and her curls had lost most of their habitual stiffness, but she had already applied a bright, garish coat of red lipstick to her mouth. For a split second, there was an undisguised expression of shock and hatred upon her face, but it was replaced quickly with a smug, self-satisfied smirk.  
  
"Oh, my," she purred, leaning against the doorway, "If it isn't Little Miss Perfect."  
  
"You are mistaken," corrected a deep voice.  
  
Both Hermione and Rita turned to gape at Snape in amazement at this pronouncement.   
  
"It is Professor Perfect now," he added, dryly.  
  
Rita began to giggle in an inane and thoroughly irritating manner as Hermione felt a hot flush upon her cheeks. "Oh, that's right," she sneered, "My husband mentioned that he was going to have to work with an incredibly large number of green and inexperienced teachers this year. I hear that Hogwarts is so desperate for teachers nowadays that they'll accept-" She paused a moment and ran her eyes up and down Hermione's frame, "anybody."  
  
With a smile she reached up to plant a large kiss upon Snape's rigidly tense jaw, leaving a distinct mark of her lips upon the pale skin. "Don't dawdle too long," she whispered as she tried, halfheartedly, to wipe the splotch away. She glanced down at the tray and then added, with a smirk in Hermione's direction, "I worked up quite an appetite last night." With another irritating giggle, she turned and disappeared back into the room.  
  
"My apologies, Professor."  
  
Snape, who had been staring up at the ceiling abruptly flicked his back to Hermione's face. "I beg your pardon?" he challenged, obviously daring her to make a remark regarding his poor judgment in the area of selecting a spouse.  
  
"I hadn't realized," she continued, gesturing at the door behind him. "That you had _just_ been married."  
  
Snape turned slightly and regarded the words painted gaudily upon the door.  
  
"Ah." He turned back and fixed her with another icy glare. "You are mistaken. We have been married nearly two months."  
  
"And still occupying the Bridal Suite. How romantic." She really hadn't meant to inject quite so much sarcasm into her tone, but something about Rita's attitude had managed to enrage her.   
  
"No, it is an eminently practical arrangement," he retorted, narrowing his eyes.  
  
For a moment she wondered if she dare ask if he meant the marriage or the accommodations.  
  
"The management offers a generous discount in price if one is willing to let a room on a long-term basis," he continued smoothly. "And since this is the only suite available, it seemed to be the wisest choice."  
  
"I would have thought that Rita had a flat in town."  
  
Snape shrugged. "She did, but she deemed it much too small for the two of us."  
  
"So you're renting a motel suite instead?" There was a note of incredulity in her voice.  
  
Snape's hands were tightening around the fabric of his robe again. "It is close to Rita's work and my wife is not the type of woman who seeks fulfillment in the undertaking of traditional domestic duties."   
  
Like cleaning and cooking, Hermione noted to herself. Although the marriage bed seemed to hold a fair amount of attraction for her.  
  
_"SEVres!" _   
  
Snape's jaw clenched again. "If you will excuse me, Professor Granger?"  
  
"Of course," she said, smiling broadly and carefully stepping over her own untouched tray. "I will see you at Hogwarts then."  
  
A stiff, hardly perceptible bow was her only reply. She walked swiftly down the hall, feeling the heat of his gaze upon her back with every step. She turned the corner and then hesitated, fighting the childish impulse to suddenly peer back around the corner and see if he had ever deigned to bend down and pick up the tray. As she stood there, she heard him pronounce the words _"Wingardium leviosa"_ and deduced that he had finally gone back into the suite to retrieve his wand and had magically transported the tray into the room.   
  
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

OPOET 3:  
  
Chapter Three:  
  
  
Hermione was halfway down the stairs when she remembered, to her chagrin, that her briefcase and robe were still within her room. For a moment, she considered casting her own spell to bring them wafting through the air to her, but in the end decided she was being exceedingly silly. There was absolutely no reason why she shouldn't walk back to the room and retrieve them. Honestly, she told herself, she couldn't spend the rest of her life trying to avoid Snape. They were going to be working together for the next nine months, after all. She sincerely doubted that there was anything she could do at the moment to convince the man that she wasn't purposefully following him and making his life miserable. So she might as well go on with her plans and ignore him as best she could.  
  
Of course, she also told herself, to rush back down the hallway would have made a terrible racket and there really was no need to call attention to the fact that she was returning. If her slow progress down the hall meant that any noise or conversation from the other rooms would seem louder and easier to hear in comparison, it certainly would not be intentional. But there was not the slightest sound to be heard from behind the closed door of the "Bridal Suite." No low, sonorous baritone or high-pitched "SEVres" could be discerned, not even the clicking of silverware against plates, even if one _had_ been listening for it. Which of course, she wasn't.  
  
Now fully clothed and with briefcase in hand, she retraced her steps down the hallway, this time picking up speed as she neared the stairs and in just a few moments she was once again upon the sidewalk of Diagon Alley. She was much too early unfortunately, but she had decided it would be best to take a nice brisk walk up and down the street until Madam Malkins Robe shop would be open. As it turned out, she was passing the storefront for only the second time when the door to the establishment opened and a sales clerk beckoned her inside.  
  
"Professor Granger!" she cried, ushering her into the small anteroom. "We were expecting you to pick up your robes yesterday afternoon?"  
  
"Oh, yes, I'm so sorry, but I was delayed," Hermione began to explain. "It's awfully nice of you to let me in early."  
  
"Don't fret about that," laughed the woman. "This is our busiest time of the year, after all. We're always in early to try to keep up with all the orders and alterations. We don't advertise the fact of course, but as you're here just to pick up your finished robes it's no problem at all."  
  
"Thank you," she replied as the clerk busied herself writing up the final bill. Since she was buying a large number of robes, having decided that it would not do to appear in the ones she had used during her year as Head Girl, it was going to be a substantial amount. That could have something to do with the woman's friendly and helpful manner, she thought. And perhaps, she might be able to squeeze out one more favor.  
  
"Would you mind terribly," she began, noticing that there was a small fire within the hearth, "If I would floo to Hogsmeade from here?"  
  
"Not at all, Professor," beamed the woman cheerfully as she brought out a large pot of floo powder from underneath the desk. "I'll just be sure to give your robes an extra-good wrapping," she announced, tearing off another large sheet of paper, "We don't want those nice new robes getting full of dust now, do we?"  
  
Within a few minutes, Hermione found herself whirling out of the fireplace at the Three Broomsticks. Perhaps, she thought ruefully, as she began the laborious process of shaking the ashes from her clothes, she should have asked the solicitous sales clerk to wrap _her _in paper as well. Then perhaps her nice but not-so-new robe wouldn't have gotten quite so filthy. As she finished dusting herself off, she glanced about her and saw that there were only a few people within the building. Feeling rather awkward about using the fireplace upon the premises without being a paying customer, she promptly sat down at a table and ordered some tea and toast, even though she really didn't feel very hungry. As she munched upon her breakfast, her mind wandered back to the breakfast tray that she had left untouched at The Leaky Cauldron, and then drifted yet again to the subject of Snape's unlikely marriage.  
  
Of course she wasn't as hungry as Rita Skeeter-Snape had been, but she also hadn't been, uh, working up an appetite the night before. She tried very hard not to think about it, but for some reason she couldn't quite drive away the image of a sexually voracious Rita pouncing upon a snarling but aroused Snape. She remembered someone once telling her that sex sounded absolutely awful when you first learned exactly what it was. Particularly when you realized, in horror, that your parents of all people must have done it in order to end up with you. But somehow the thought of her own parents' sexual relations seemed infinitely less shocking than the thought of her former teacher and that vain, petulant woman sharing a bed.  
  
It really shouldn't bother me as it does, she thought to herself. So, the question was-why did it seem to matter so much? After all, it wasn't like _she_ had ever been attracted to Snape. Who would be? Yes he was a talented wizard, blessed with both intelligence and significant powers. But on the other hand, he was also a skinny, greasy-haired, big-nosed, foul-tempered Slytherin bastard.  
  
She blinked as the bitter words of that description ran through her brain, as if rather surprised by the vehemence of her response. Well, why shouldn't she hate him and be eager to belittle him? He had never granted her the slightest bit of respect for her scholastic talents and, to be perfectly honest, a small part of her was still devastated by memory of the time he had made that cutting remark about her teeth during her fourth year at Hogwarts.  
  
She remembered clearly the panic she had felt as her teeth continued to sprout down past her collar. She had fought desperately with Ron, trying in vain to keep anyone else from seeing the hideous spectacle. But when he had managed to drag her hands away and she had found herself looking up into Snape's cold black eyes she had hoped that just perhaps he might know a counterspell to reverse or at least arrest the curse's advancement. Instead, he had simply stared and stated:  
  
_"I see no difference."  
  
_She blinked her eyes rapidly as the warm tears began to sting them. After all these years, those cold words were still capable of wounding her.  
  
Even after that memorable day, she had not quite given up on eventually earning his esteem. And holding fast to the idea that, whatever he had done in the past or was doing in the present, Dumbledore trusted him without question, she had always tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. But the following years of insults, marked by his refusal to give her talents sufficient praise, and the growing suspicion that he was deliberately withholding highest marks from her whenever possible had finally succeeded in convincing her that it was a lost cause. Since then, she had managed to regard him as a necessary evil, rather like her semi-annual visits to the Muggle dentist that her parents still insisted she upon. They and Snape were something that could not be totally ignored or excised from her life, but that didn't mean she had to spend any more time than was absolutely required thinking about them.  
  
With an audible sniff, she arose from the table and, gathering her briefcase and package, set out to walk the rest of the way to Hogwarts. To her delight, it was a fine and bright late summer day, and she found herself happily picking out sights and sounds along the way that reminded her of the happiest times she had spent upon this path with Ron and Harry. As she rounded the final bend, and the turrets of the castle came into view she paused for a moment and smiled broadly, feeling her mood lighten considerably as she regarded the edifice with affection. When she had first laid eyes upon the castle, she had been moved to awed silence, finding that the illustrations in _'Hogwarts: A History'_ didn't come close to doing the building and the grounds justice in conveying their grand splendor. She had shivered in anticipation then, but now she found herself feeling quietly warmed, as though the stones of the castle itself were whispering a welcome to her.  
  
"I"m home," she thought, suddenly, "I am truly home."  
  
Within another few minutes, she was walking up the path to Hagrid's hut. To her delight, Crookshanks was sunning himself upon one of the large stone stairs leading up to the door.   
  
"Hello, Crookshanks," she cooed, bending down to scratch his ear. "Did you miss me?"  
  
The ginger-colored cat yawned and batted at her with his right paw, as if to signify that she was not quite forgiven for having sent him on ahead. But a moment later he was rubbing against her legs and purring loudly, as if to tell her that he had most magnanimously decided overlook the matter for now.  
  
"And there's my Hermione!" declared a happy, familiar voice.  
  
"Hagrid!" she cried, running to the beaming half-giant as he rounded the corner of the hut and came into view. She couldn't quite get her arms around him, but did her best as he embraced her affectionately.  
  
"I mean Professor Granger," he amended, his smile broadening as he stepped back to study her. "And seven years ago," he said, shaking his head in disbelief, "You were a such a scrawny little thing that when Professor McGonagall called your name the sorting hat was bigger than you were." He laughed loudly. "Thought for a moment you were going to disappear underneath it when she put it on your head."  
  
"I was so _scared_," she admitted, laughing openly.  
  
"It's good to see you back," said Hagrid, unabashedly wiping some tears away from his eyes as he spoke. "Though," he added, sniffing loudly through his large nose, "Won't be quite the same without your chums, will it?"  
  
"No," she replied, sadly. "But they'll be visiting soon," she promised.  
  
"So, will you come in to have a cup of tea and a biscuit?" he asked, gesturing toward the hut. "Or are you too grand now for that, now that you're a Professor and all?" he added, with a wink.  
  
Hermione's smile hid her sudden unease. She was already quite filled from the earlier breakfast and, to be truthful, she never had developed much of a taste for any of Hagrid's cooking. She knew from experience that even his tea-making skills were suspect.  
  
"Me too grand?" she said, in a shocked voice, scurrying to cover up her anxiety. "I'll even make it for us," she suggested, turning to stride up the stairs. "It's the least I can do, after all, since you're the _senior_ Professor."  
  
"Oh, ah, right," he replied, seeming strangely embarrassed. "I'll get the cups then," he offered, hurrying past her.  
  
"What's wrong, Hagrid?" she asked, narrowing her eyes and growing suddenly suspicious at his change in manner.  
  
"Oh, nothin's wrong, Hermione. It's just that-" He coughed loudly as he placed the enormous mugs upon the table and turned to grab the bucket-sized teapot from the sideboard. "Well, to tell you the absolute truth," he said, setting down the teapot with such force that Hermione was amazed it wasn't smashed to bits. "I"m not technically a Professor anymore."  
  
"What?" she shouted, absolutely scandalized. "Are you telling me that Headmistress McGonagall has sacked you?"  
  
"Oh, no, no, nothin' like that," insisted Hagrid, sitting down and scratching his woolly head. "It's just that young Charlie Weasley offered to help me out with classes this year." Bending forward, Hagrid spoke the next words in a confidential whisper. "And it's not for certain, mind you, but I'm beginning to think that, with all of his experience and what-not, they'll even let him teach dragons this year. Hands on." he added, with a nod of approval.  
  
As he looked at Hermione's shocked expression, he hastily added. "Well, just the littler ones and only the upper year classes, of course."  
  
"But, Hagrid-"  
  
"Well, anyway, Hermione, you know that, as proud as I was that Dumbledore trusted me with the job of teachin', I was never really good at it. I mean, I always had such good ideas, but somehow, they never got off quite right." He sighed and shook his head. "Even with some of the other teachers trying to lend me a hand a have a real lesson plan and all."  
  
Hermione rose from her chair and busied herself retrieving some tea leaves from the cupboard. She was quite upset by the news, but had to admit that a part of her was feeling very guilty that she herself had always found Hagrid's classes to be at best poorly prepared and at worst frankly dangerous. As she measured out the leaves into the teapot, Hagrid spoke again.  
  
"Anyways, we was talkin' about the coming year and Charlie had all these really great ideas about what to teach and so on, so I finally says, I said 'Charley, I'll make you a deal-if you want to be the real Care of Magical Creatures Professor, I'll be your assitant-like.' " Hagrid nodded his head emphatically as he swung a large kettle onto the fire. " 'Course he argued about it for a long time but I said, no, my mind was made up." Picking up his umbrella, he aimed it carefully at the flames, which immediately flared to a greater intensity. With a satisfied grunt, he replaced the umbrella back against the wall.  
  
They both sat back down at the table as they waited for the kettle to boil. "So we both went to Professor McGonagall and she said she thought it was a really good plan."  
  
"Hmm," said Hermione, her brow furrowed in thought. She wondered how much of this had been planned ahead of time by both McGonagall and Charley Weasley, and began to wonder why Ron hadn't thought to mention the fact that his brother was going to be teaching at Hogwarts as well. She was beginning to regret more and more her enforced isolation from the Wizarding World this summer.  
  
"So, I'm back to being "Keeper of Grounds and Keys at Hogwarts' and an 'Official Assistant'," he said, smiling happily. "So, I'm still staff, mind you, but not a 'Professor' any more."  
  
"Well, I guess if it's all right with you," she muttered, reluctantly.  
  
"Of it's fine with me," he assured her, standing up to retrieve a tin of biscuits from a tall shelf. Hermione's relief that he was not offering her a homemade delicacy was immediately tempered by the fact that he paused to blow a large collection of dust from off the top of the tin.   
  
"And it only stands to reason," he continued, as he pried off the lid and began to arrange the biscuits onto a plate. There was a dull, clanking sound as the hard and presumably stale treats hit the platter. "Look at all the new teachers we're going to be having this year. You teaching Transfiguration, Neville taking over Herbology, and Professor Lupin back teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts."   
  
Placing the dish in front of her, Hagrid turned to retrieve the whistling kettle, which was now glowing red-hot in the midst of the flames. With no apparent discomfort, he picked it up and boiling water into the teapot. "With You-Know-Who out of the way and Dumbledore gone, it's a whole new world for us here at Hogwarts," he remarked, over his shoulder. "Might as well have some new teachers," he said, picking up the scalding pot in his large hands and swirling it gingerly. "Now," he said, pouring out a large cupful for her, "You take lots of milk and sugar, right?" he asked, pushing them toward her.  
  
"Um-hmm," she answered, absentmindedly. Actually she usually took it with just a touch of sugar, but when it came to Hagrid's tea, a copious amount of lightening and sweetening was needed.  
  
She ladled two large spoonfuls of sugar and a generous helping of milk into her tea. Picking up the smallest of the biscuits, she held it into the steaming liquid and prayed that it would absorb enough moisture as to be chewable, if not exactly edible. To her relief, she was able to swallow down the biscuit in this manner, although the stale taste definitely overwhelmed the flavor of ginger it had once possessed. They continued in silence for several minutes as they sipped at their tea.  
  
"Though not everyone's new," she commented, setting her cup down. "Professor Flitwick is still teaching Charms."  
  
"Oh, yeah, but confidentially," Hagrid lowered his voice again, "He only came back this year to help smooth things out for Professor McGonagall. What they're really hoping for-" Here Hagrid's voice dropped again, "Is that Harry will come to Hogwarts next year to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, and then Lupin can switch to Charms."  
  
"Really?" Hermione digested this bit of news as well. "And Snape's teaching Potions as usual," she said, finally.  
  
"Yeah, I can tell you that the Headmistress was pretty pleased when he asked for his resignation letter back," said Hagrid, standing up to replace the tin of biscuits on the shelf.  
  
"He-what?" she stuttered, her mug clanging noisily against the table as she struggled to comprehend this last big of news. "Snape resigned?"  
  
"Oh, yeah," he answered, sitting back down. "After Dumbledore passed on-" The large man hesitated and Hermione reached out to pat his hand reassuringly as the tears welled in his eyes again. Removing a large and rather dirty handkerchief from one of his pockets, he dabbed at his eyes and blew his nose loudly before proceeding. "Anyway, Snape locked himself down in the dungeon for days. I wanted to go see if he was all right, but Professor McGonagall stopped me and said that it was probably his way of grievin' and all and to leave him alone."  
  
Hermione nodded again. As devastated as she had been to hear of Dumbledore's death, she only imagine what Snape's reaction was. It had seemed, to her eyes at least, that the Headmaster had been the nearest thing to a friend that the Potions Master had ever had. His death must have left a considerable void in his life.  
  
"But when he finally came out," said Hagrid, shrugging his shoulders, "He went straight to McGonagall and slapped two sheets of parchment down on her desk. One was his resignation letter and the other was a list of things the school was going to have to buy, 'cause the storeroom was going to be pretty bare since he was taking all of his personal supplies with him."  
  
"You sound as if you saw him do it?" Hermione asked.  
  
"Yeah, I was up in the office, talkin' to her at the time," he said, nodding his head. "And Snape just waltzed in, threw down the papers and waited for her to read them. And when she asked what it all meant he said-" Hagrid paused to screw up his features in concentration as he struggled to remember the exact wording. "That sixteen years of servitude was enough and he'd more than paid his debts."  
  
"And what did Professor McGonagall do then?" she asked, excitedly.  
  
"Well, she tried to calm him down a bit," he said, taking another sip. "And said that she was sorry if he was disappointed not to be named Headmaster or Deputy Headmaster by the board of governors."  
  
"Do you think he expected it?" she asked, blinking in surprise.  
  
"I don't know," admitted Hagrid, frowning again. "Didn't seem to be too upset about the news that McGonagall got the job, but I guess he was a little miffed about Flitwick bein' named Deputy. Anyways, he didn't say anything to that, but when she went on to say that she just couldn't allow him to switch to teaching 'Defense Against the Dark Arts' when he was still needed for 'Potions'-"  
  
"Oh, dear!" cried Hermione, biting down upon her lip. She had at one time dismissed as idle gossip the notion that Snape aspired to that position. But his reply to Dolores Umbridge's questioning during a fifth year Potions class had left no doubt that he had indeed applied for the post every year, only to be refused by Dumbledore. If he had learned that it was to be granted to Remus Lupin for the second time, she could only imagine the depth of his rage.  
  
"He crossed his arms and said somethin' like 'it's clear that at the new Hogwarts, only Gryffindors need apply'," he went on, struggling to convey Snape's sarcastic tone. "Well," he added, rolling his eyes, "Professor McGonagall looked pretty upset herself when he said that. Went white for a moment, and then got real red in the face"  
  
Hermione nodded, picturing the two antagonists clearly in her mind.  
  
"And then, well, ah, some other things were said 'bout the new teachers and stuff," he continued, looking suddenly flushed as he busied himself pouring out some more tea.  
  
"About me?" she said, feeling suddenly sure that Hagrid's sudden uneasiness could only be due to the fact that her name had come up during the conversation.  
  
"Oh, no, no," he insisted feebly, shaking his head. "But, anyway, McGonagall finally said that, of course she couldn't stop him, but that he was really needed at Hogwarts and to please reconsider."  
  
There was another silence.  
  
"And then what happened?" she finally prompted.  
  
"Well, he said, he said-" Hagrid shook his head again. "I don't think I better tell you exactly what he said," he admitted finally.  
  
At this, Hermione had to struggle to hide her grin. For the perennially loose-lipped Hagrid not to tell her all the details, it had to have been a horribly scathing remark. Or, she thought, her smile suddenly fading away of her own accord, it had been a comment directed at herself and Hagrid was too embarrassed to repeat it.  
  
"But he left-slamming the door behind him and Professor McGonagall 'bout hit the roof again when she saw the list of supplies the school was going to have to buy," he said.   
  
"Hmm," she replied, absentmindedly reaching for another biscuit. She almost had it to her lips before she remembered to give it a thorough soaking in the tea first. "But he's back?" she said, in a tone of bewilderment.  
  
"Yep," he replied, in a satisfied tone of voice, as if this was perfectly unsurprising.  
  
"But why, after that huge row, would he want to come back?" she asked, "And why would the Headmistress let him?"  
  
"Because she still hadn't found anyone for Potions, had she?" he answered cheerily. "And with September 1st coming up, didn't have time to hold a grudge, I guess."  
  
"But that still doesn't answer why Snape-"  
  
"Well, that's even easier," he said, chuckling softly. "Now that he had a family to think of, couldn't very well not work, even if it meant coming back here to Hogwarts. More tea?" he asked, picking up the pot.  
  
"No thank you," she whispered, sitting back in her chair and blinking in surprise, "Family?"  
  
Hagrid shrugged. "Just him and Rita for now," he admitted. "But the way they've been carrying on that there will be little ones coming soon."  
  
The image of a little girl burdened with Rita's features and Snape's lank and oily hair floated briefly through her mind. She batted it down, only to find it replaced with the vision of a boy bearing Snape's scowling countenance and large nose, albeit crowned with blond hair curled into absurdly tight coils. The thought of the little Skeeter-Snapes to come made her shudder slightly.  
  
Leaning forward, she stared at Hagrid, suddenly realizing that he had spoken of the match in a warm and friendly tone of voice. "But, Hagrid," she said, "Don't you think it's kind of funny that he suddenly got married? And to Rita, of all people? That's just such a strange match, don't you think?"  
  
"Hermione!" Hagrid's voice was now gently reproving. "That's not a very nice thing to say."  
  
She blinked, shocked momentarily into silence by the vehemence of his reply. "I just mean-" she began.  
  
"Snape's a good man, he is!" declared Hagrid firmly.  
  
"I never said he wasn't!" she protested.  
  
Hagrid was shaking his head sadly. "I knew Ron and Harry never liked him, but thought you at least could see understand. When a man's been alone for a lot of years, ain't nobody's business who he finds to make him happy!" he grumbled, abruptly rising from his chair and gathering up the dishes.  
  
As he turned to place them on the counter, she felt a sudden, sharp pang of guilt. Of course, she realized, Hagrid viewed the whole matter a little differently than she did. Snape's situation no doubt had brought to mind his own difficulty in finding a compatible spouse. Another less generous and loving man might have pettily expressed envy or derision at Snape's sudden abandonment of his bachelorhood. Hagrid's sweet and gentle nature ensured that he wistfully and generously wished the man all the best for being lucky enough to obtain a wife.  
  
"I"m sorry, Hagrid," she said quietly, rising to join him at the cupboard. She patted him affectionately on the back. "Don't you _ever _hear from Madam Maxine?"  
  
"No," he said sadly. "I wrote her nearly every day and then would get an owl back from her maybe once a month. All the same they were." He sighed and recited: "Dear Hagrid, So nice to hear from you again. Too busy to write more now. Fondly, Olympe. Fondly." he harrumphed. "Don't have to hit me over the head with a bludger," he proclaimed, turning around to face her.  
  
Hermione reached out and hugged him again. Poor man, she thought, and wondered how many of the letters he had received before the cool tone of the short and impersonal notes had sunk in. She felt a sudden, intense hatred in her heart for the French half-giantess.  
  
"She didn't deserve you, Hagrid!" she hissed.   
  
"Now, don't you go judging her that way her!" he answered, the sharpness of his words belied by the fact that he was returning her embrace. "Can't expect a fine lady like herself to be happy with the likes of me just 'cause we're similar in other ways," he said.  
  
"You'll find someone else Hagrid, I just know you will," she said, squeezing him even tighter.  
  
"I hope so, Hermione, I hope so," he said, kissing her gently on the top of her head. "And if I do," he said, pushing her away slightly and a teasing tone coming into his voice, "Don't you go criticizing us, saying we're 'a strange match'."  
  
"I won't," she promised, with a smile.  
  
They both looked down as they felt Crookshanks beginning to circle around their ankles.  
  
"Are you feeling left out, Crookshanks? Or does this mean you're ready for something to eat?" she joked, bending down to pet him. The cat opened his mouth and answered with a low and prolonged meow.  
  
"Yeah, you'd best be getting settled in your room and all," said Hagrid, patting her on the shoulder before releasing his hold completely. "Lots to do before school starts in a few days."  
  
"Yes," she replied, bending down to pick up her briefcase and packages again. "But where exactly are my rooms?" she asked, hesitating at the open door.  
  
"Well, I'm not quite sure," he answered. "Guess you better ask one of the house elves," ignoring her grimace at the mention of the enslaved creatures.  
  
"C'mon, Crookshanks," she urged, moving out the doorway and striding down the steps.  
  
"Oh, and Professor McGonagall wants you to stop in her office as soon as you can," he called after her.  
  
"All right," she answered. "Oh," she said, suddenly realizing that, of course, this would be the Headmaster's, or rather _Headmistress'_ office now. And that she herself would probably be inheriting McGonagall's former office. "What's the password?" she asked.  
  
Hagrid frowned, apparently racking his brain for a moment. "_Panthera pardus_!" he proclaimed, with some relief.  
  
Hermione stifled a giggle as she turned and continued walking toward the castle. Just another sign of the changing times, she thought. From now on, it appeared that it would the passwords would be inspired by felines rather than confections.  
  
  
  
  
  
Author's Note: Sorry for the long delay. I can only plead the intrusion of real life. As for when the "R-rated" segments of this story will finally appear, I can only say that the story seems to be stretching into a much longer format than I originally envisioned.   
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

OPOET 4  
  
  
Chapter 4:  
  
Hermione and Crookshanks walked on at a leisurely pace towards the castle. There was just the hint of gentle breeze in the air, and she threw her head back, enjoying the feel of it rustling through her thick hair. She smiled as she realized she was humming, her arms swinging happily in rhythm as she approached the main door. The thought struck her again that she felt as though she were returning home. But as she neared the steps she suddenly halted and narrowed her eyes, squinting up at the massive walls of the edifice.  
  
It had always been a warm and welcoming sight for her. But Snape had spoken of being in 'servitude'. Apparently, he had felt more like a slave or perhaps a prisoner within its walls.  
  
Well, she sniffed, shaking her head and hastily climbing the stairs, what did you expect when you spent most of your time skulking around the dungeons? As far as she understood the situation, there was a very good chance that, had Dumbledore not voiced his support of Snape during the first set of Death Eater trials, the greasy-haired wizard would have ended up in Azkaban years ago. But trust Snape to look on the dark side of everything, and make it sound as if Dumbledore was punishing him rather than sheltering him.  
  
By this time she was through the doors and standing in the main hallway. She looked around for a moment, hoping to see one of the other teachers, but the hall remained eerily empty and silent. Crookshanks' purr resounded loudly in the room as he began once more to circle around her ankles.  
  
"Oh, dear," she said, smiling down at him. "I know you're hungry, but I'd really like to get to our rooms first." For a brief moment, she considered heading over to the Headmistress' office. But she decided against it, arguing that she really should dispose of her packages, get Crookshanks settled in the new quarters and take a few minutes to freshen up herself before meeting with McGonagall. Instead, she directed her steps toward the Great Hall in the hopes that someone (right about now she might even settle for a house elf) would be rattling around and willing to help her find her way.  
  
The creak of the door pushing inward sounded surprisingly noisy as it echoed through the large chamber. The room looked even larger than normal since the tables for the four Houses were pushed to the side, leaving the middle of the room distressingly vacant. The long table that sat upon the dais appeared slightly odd as well. There were only a half dozen chairs placed around it, and Hermione noticed immediately that Dumbledore's large, throne-like chair was not at the table. It was set back behind the others, near the large stain glassed window, as if no one could as yet bear to see it claimed by his successor.   
  
The four hour-glasses set upon the wall gleamed brightly. Their jewels, all returned to the upper bulbs in anticipation of the new school year, sparkled merrily in the sunlight. As she stared up again, she once more felt the enormity of taking on the responsibility of heading Gryffindor House. She had a rather sneaking suspicion, as a matter of fact, that at the end of the year most of the rubies might still be where they were at the moment.   
  
"Ten points to Gryffindor for having the prettiest Head of House," came a voice behind her.   
  
As the jewels began to trickle into the lower bulb, she pivoted on her heel to see who had spoken. A broadly smiling Charlie Weasley was placing his wand in the pocket of his jeans and walking towards her with his arms held out in front of him. Running to him, she clasped her arms around him and hugged him happily. During the past few years, she had visited the Weasley family with great regularity and Charlie's role as a member of the Order of the Phoenix had ensured that his own trips to England were much more frequent than they had been. She felt his arms wrap around her as well and after a few moments it seemed, to her surprise, that he seemed somewhat loathe to release her. She allowed a few more seconds to pass and then she grinned up at him and gently placed her hands upon his shoulders, pushing back slightly so that she could get a better look at his face.  
  
"What's with the beard?" she asked, reaching up to stroke reddish-gold hair upon his cheek and chin. She had expected it to be rather bristly and found herself quietly pleased that instead, it was amazingly soft.  
  
"Well," he admitted with a chuckle, drawing away from her and ruefully pulling at the growth himself, "It's something I always wanted to do. But after having my eyebrows singed off a couple of times, I decided facial hair was not a good idea when you're working with dragons." Shrugging his shoulders, he laughed and continued: "But, I thought it might help me look suitably distinguished for a Hogwarts Professor."  
  
"I see," she replied, chuckling herself. "And what's this I hear about including dragons in 'Care of Magical Creatures' classes?"  
  
"Oh," he cringed, shaking his head. "No, no, no! What I told Hagrid was that I _might_ be willing to arrange a field trip to one of the colonies-but only for a few select seventh years."  
  
"He won't give up on the idea, you know," she said.  
  
"Probably not," he admitted cheerfully.  
  
"Anyway," she said, turning back to the hourglasses and retrieving her wand. With a wave, the rubies returned to their proper place. "You can't award or deduct points until after the start-of-term Feast," she reprimanded. "Besides," she added, "You didn't have a valid reason. Gryffindor prides itself on bravery, not physical attractiveness."  
  
"A speech delivered with suitable schoolmarm sternness," he teased. "All right," he said, stroking his beard again. "Let's see. You are exceedingly brave, and everyone knows you're just as smart as anyone whose ever come out of Ravenclaw, including Flitwick. And as hard-working as any Hufflepuff. I think, based upon the fact that you exemplify the best of three our of the four houses, you still deserve special recognition."  
  
"Oh," she said, her lips set into a petulant frown. "Are you telling me I'm not sneaky enough?"  
  
He laughed loudly, throwing his head back and placing his hands upon his hips. "Well, you've managed quite a few ingeniously clever tricks in your time," he allowed. "Much more than I ever thought you would from the way that Ron and Percy first described you," he admitted, with a wink. "But, yeah, I do think ol' Snape has the advantage on you there."  
  
"Ol' Snape," she teased, running her eyes up and down his frame. "He's not that much older than you are! Anyway," she said, suddenly anxious to change the subject. "The last I heard it sounded like your mother and Percy were finally patching things up?" she asked.  
  
"Oh, much more than that," he said, waving his wand in the direction of group of chairs gathered near the door. Two of the wooden chairs came flying through the air and landed beside them. Taking a seat, he chuckled once more. "He's become the favorite son again."  
  
"Oh, what now?" she asked, seating herself as well. "Managed a new promotion in the Ministry?"  
  
"Much better than that," he answered. Leaning forward, he grinned again, and she suddenly noticed how white and even his teeth were, especially contrasted against the red of his beard and skin. "He and Penelope are expecting-twins, no less."  
  
Hermione's mouth dropped open. "I didn't even know that they had finally gotten married."   
  
"Well, they did. At the beginning of summer. Just a small ceremony right at the Ministry, as a matter of fact." Glancing around the hall, he cleared his throat and continued, "A rather uh, _rushed _affair, under the circumstances," he said, raising his eyebrows.  
  
"Oh," she said, her hand flying to her mouth. "You don't mean?" She paused and imagined Percy Weasley, proper and pompous, being hurried into hastily-arranged marriage because of an unexpected pregnancy. "Oh, your mother must have been _livid_," she said, shaking her head.  
  
"No, she was surprisingly calm. Actually," he added, his voice dipping down into a whisper as he leaned closer to her, "Fred and George are of the opinion that perhaps she suggested to Penelope that, if she was getting tired of not being able to pin Percy down to finally setting a date, it might be prudent to become a bit forgetful about the Contraceptive Potion."  
  
"Oh, she wouldn't!" she squealed, feeling both amused and slightly scandalized. Crookshanks sprang into her lap, and she began to pet him absentmindedly.  
  
"All I can say is that she was been very happily knitting away ever since, making two of everything," he said, sitting back in his chair.  
  
"I would have thought they would have wanted a big ceremony though?" she asked, scratching Crookshanks' ears.  
  
Charlie shook his head as he crossed his legs. "Well, Penelope just seemed relieved to finally get the ring on her finger and Percy was trying to draw as little attention as possible to the timing, of course." He smirked and rolled his eyes. "I'll bet you ten galleons that he'll insist upon telling their children that they were married the previous year. And as for Mum, well, by the time Bill and Fleur finally get married, she will probably have her fill of large ceremonies." He closed his eyes for a moment. "Four months to go and I swear it'll be a miracle she and Madame Delacour don't end up dueling each other to the death before then."  
  
"I thought it was Bill and Fleur who had the fiery relationship?"  
  
"Oh, yeah," he agreed, cheerfully. "Fred and George are starting to take bets on whether or not Fleur will end up walking down the aisle. Or if she'll just keep walking and and not stop at the altar," he joked. Shaking his head again, he continued, "Although Ginny joked the other day that maybe Gabrielle and Ron would be standing by, ready to fill in for them if that happens."  
  
He opened his mouth to add something else, but shut it abruptly as he realized that Hermione's face had gone suddenly still and white.   
  
"Oh, hell, Hermione, I'm sorry," he said, his freckled face turning a brighter shade of red. "I just thought that you and Ron had-" He broke off, and gestured helplessly with his hands.  
  
"We did," she said, swallowing hard. "We decided it was never going to work, and we're just fine being friends," she insisted. "It's just that-I had seen it in the paper, but-" She shook her head, looking confused. "But her sister's just a _kid!_"  
  
"Well, she always looked like one," he agreed. "Seems that Veela blood keeps a girl unnaturally small and young-looking until, until she-" By now the deep scarlet of his face would have put the Gryffindor rubies to shame. "-blossoms," he finished, lamely.  
  
Hermione found herself giggling loudly, in an almost hysterical manner for a moment. "So she has 'blossomed' then?" she asked, rising to her feet and dislodging a surprised cat from her lap. "And no doubt Ron and all the other males within visual proximity have noticed."  
  
Charlie was struggling to his feet as well. "Oh, cripes, Hermione," he said, running his fingers through his hair. "I wouldn't have said anything, but I just figured that Ginny _must _have written to you."  
  
"No, no, it's my fault," she said, reaching down towards Crookshanks, intending to apologize by petting him again. But the cat drew back reproachfully, not quite ready to forgive her transgression of having unceremoniously dumped him from his spot. "I purposefully told everyone not to write to me this summer and this is my reward." She smiled and shook her hand. "Seems as though I have quite a lot of catching-up to do."  
  
Charlie still looked absolutely mortified, but before he could say anything else their was a high-pitched squeal, and they both turned to look in the direction from whence it had came.  
  
"Professor Granger!" The voice was loud and absolutely delighted.  
  
"Dobby!" she answered, and even if she hadn't been anxious to conclude her conversation with Charlie, she would have been hard-pressed to ignore the little house-elf. As usual, he wore a pair of brightly-colored and mismatched socks, but Hermione bent down and squinted as she tried to fathom what on earth he was wearing on the rest of his body.  
  
"Does the Professor see?" he asked, bouncing up and down happily on his little feet. "Dobby has never forgotten all the wonderful clothes that you knit for him," he assured her.  
  
Blinking rapidly, she realized that he was somehow managed to sew the hats and socks that she had spent the better part of her Fifth year knitting into a weirdly thick, but colorful and soft toga-like outfit. "I see," she said slowly. Behind her, she heard the muffled sound of laughter as Charlie surveyed both of them.  
  
"Dobby has heard that Professor Granger would come back to Hogwarts today and is wearing this in honor of your return!" he cried.  
  
"So you don't normally dress this way," she said, as she straightened up.  
  
"Oh, no, Professor, Dobby has lots and lots of clothes to wear now!" he assured her.  
  
"Good!" she said, pausing to throw a wink in Charlie's direction. "Do you happen to know where my rooms are, Dobby?" she asked, bending down to retrieve her package and briefcase.  
  
"Oh, yes!" he exclaimed, leaping forward and snatching up the parcels before she could reach them. "Dobby knows, and has seen that all of your trunks have been taken there already. Dobby will show you the way now and get the Professor's cat some cream," he offered.  
  
At this, Crookshanks purred loudly.  
  
"A dish of _water_ and some food will be fine," she said.  
  
Crookshanks turned and gave her an annoyed look before bounding after the already rapidly-retreating figure of the house-elf.  
  
"See you at dinner, then!" called Charlie.  
  
She turned and smiled back at him, thankful that the momentary awkwardness had disappeared. "All right," she smiled.  
  
"And by the way, Hermione?"  
  
She turned back to look at him.   
  
"Try not to make the rest of us new teachers look too bad by being perfect at everything right away?" he asked in a very serious voice as he raised his hands together in a gesture of supplication.  
  
In response, she cheerfully stuck her tongue out at him.  
  
"So where are we headed?' she asked, as she caught up to Dobby and Crookshanks again.  
  
"The fourth floor, Professor," he answered, puffing slightly as he began to hop up the stairs. "There is a nice set of rooms there, close to the Gryffindor tower and the Headmistress said she hoped you would like it."  
  
"I'm sure I will," she answered.  
  
Indeed, she thought a few minutes later as she stood and gazed around her new quarters, they seemed to be wonderful. The bedroom itself was just a bit cramped, and she was already considering changing the bed from a four-poster to something a little less forbidding, hoping that it would make the room look more spacious. But there was a huge closet and the main sitting room was good-sized, airy and bright. The walls were lined with shelves and there was a large and ornately carved desk, which still managed to have the hint of a feminine touch to it. And in the corner there was a window seat topped with a set of plush cushions, and she could already imagine herself and Crookshanks spending many hours happily ensconced upon it as she read and graded papers.  
  
She opened up one of the trunks and removed some essential items and by the time she had hung up some clothes and her new robes and arranged a few of her toiletries, Dobby had already returned carrying two ridiculously ornate bowls containing food and water. Placing them upon a thick mat underneath the sitting room's second window, he asked Hermione if there was anything else she needed. Assuring him that everything was perfect, she watched as he bounced out of the room again and then made her way to the bathroom. Deciding that she didn't have time to indulge in a shower or bath, she threw off her clothes and contented herself with a quick scrubbing of her face and upper body.   
  
Hurrying to dress in fresh clothes, she debated for a moment about whether or not she should it was necessary to dress formally in robes. Charlie had been dressed in blue jeans and a casual, short-sleeved shirt, so she hoped it was not going to be egregiously casual for her to appear in the Headmistress' office in a demure summer dress. Shrugging the garment over her head, she smoothed it over her hips and decidedly that it appeared to be an acceptable compromise. She padded back to the sitting room and retrieved a pair of good sandals from the other trunk and then returned to her vanity to apply a quick coat of lipstick and to run a brush through her hair. Securing the wavy strands back into a ponytail, she nodded in satisfaction and then took in a deep breath and prepared to make her departure.  
  
"You staying in here for awhile?" she asked. Crookshanks, who was perched by the open window, peering out of it as his ears twitched excitedly, didn't even bother to turn around at the sound of her voice. "All right, then," she laughed, "I shouldn't be gone long anyway."  
  
As she closed the door behind her and turned down the hallway she found herself hoping that the staircase that Dobby had used to lead her to her room had not as yet decided to change its direction. As familiar as she was with Hogwarts, she had to admit that it would take a few more trips through this section before she felt absolutely comfortable. To her relief, the staircase had either remained in place or changed back again, and within a very short time she found herself standing before the gargoyle that stood guard over the Headmistress' office. It leapt aside obligingly as she pronounced the password, and she couldn't help but think that there was something almost feline in the way it moved. She wondered again just how much everything in Hogwarts was going to change with McGonagall in charge.  
  
The big oak door seemed familiar enough, however, and she tried to ignore the fact that her heart was suddenly beating loudly as she knocked upon it.  
  
"Come in!"  
  
She opened the door to find McGonagall looking up from the desk that had previously stood within the Transfiguration room, while already rising from his seat and rushing toward her with a smile upon his tiny face was Professor Flitwick.  
  
"Oh, we'd hoped you be in time for tea," he squeaked, shaking her hand enthusiastically.  
  
Inwardly, Hermione breathed a silent prayer of relief that she had taken time to rid herself of her morning's rather large portion of liquid refreshments before venturing forth. Releasing Flitwick's hand, she moved to greet McGonagall, who had risen from her seat and strode around the desk to greet her. For a moment, she wondered if she was dressed too informally, for the Charms professor was wearing his traditional robes. As the Headmistress approached her, however, she noted thankfully that she was dressed simply in a white blouse and long plaid skirt.   
  
"Yes, indeed," she said, extending her hand. To Hermione's surprise, she did not content herself with a simple shake, but clasped her left hand upon their entwined fingers as well and gave it an affectionate squeeze. And was it her imagination, or was there a hint of moisture in those green eyes?  
  
"I am most delighted that you accepted my invitation to return to Hogwarts to teach," she said simply, releasing her grip.  
  
She gestured toward a small oval table near the window, upon which stood a tea service and several platters filled with sandwiches, cakes and other delicacies. "Shall we begin?" she suggested.  
  
For the next few minutes, they busied themselves with the pouring of the tea and the filling of their plates.  
  
"Not that anyone every doubted that you would someday return as a professor, my dear" proclaimed Flitwick, who paused to charm an additional cushion onto his chair to ensure that he could see over the tabletop. "Now, you don't mind if I call you Hermione, do you?" he asked, in a friendly manner. "Since we are equals, now?" he added.  
  
"Oh, no, please do," she assured him, as she stirred the sugar into her tea.  
  
"And from now on, I am Filius," he added, smoothing the napkin over his lap.  
  
"Thank you," she said, "I'll do my best, but-"  
  
"It will seem strange at first," finished McGonagall with a smile. "Believe me, I know," she said, adding honey to her own cup. "Therefore, I will allow you an occasional lapse during the first month or so," she continued, taking a sip of her tea. "But after that," she warned, setting it down, "There will be no excuse for not calling me Minerva."  
  
"I'll do my best," she repeated, shaking her head ruefully as she took a small bite of her sandwich.  
  
"Anyway, as I was saying, _Hermione,_" said Flitwick, wiping his mouth with his napkin. "By the end of your first year here at Hogwarts, there had already been a spirited debate in the Staff Room regarding not _if _you should teach, but which subject it should be." He laughed and reached for his cup. "I regret to say that Minerva and I entered into a bet that should you choose Charms, she would have to pay me five galleons." Heaving a large sigh, he tilted his head to the side. "Instead, I found myself having to hand over that exact sum to the Headmistress this morning."  
  
"Of course," added McGonagall, adjusting her square-rimmed glasses upon her eyes, "Your other instructors felt just as strongly. Even Binns allowed that, should he ever decide to leave his post, you were the only student who seemed even remotely capable of filling his shoes."  
  
"Hmm," replied Hermione, feeling a slight warmth upon her cheeks. "But of course," she said, setting her sandwich down and reaching for her cup, "You don't expect me to believe that Professor Snape expounded upon my talents in potions."  
  
To her surprise, Flitwick unexpectedly began to choke upon his beverage. "Perhaps not," he admitted, once he had managed to catch his breath again. "But-" He hesitated and shot a bemused glance in McGonagall's direction.  
  
"But I was _very_ close to asking you to please consider teaching Potions instead of Transfiguration," she said, bending over to pour some fresh tea into Flitwick's cup.  
  
"Before Professor Snape rescinded his resignation?" she asked.  
  
"I see you have been talking to Hagrid," said McGonagall, the ends of her mouth curling up slightly.  
  
"Well, yes," she admitted.   
  
"We were very lucky, very lucky indeed that Severus reconsidered," murmured Flitwick.   
  
"Couldn't you find anyone to replace him?" Hermione asked.  
  
"No one who was even remotely qualified was interested in the position," clarified McGonagall. "It seems," she said sitting back in her chair, "That for some strange reason, very few of the Hogwarts graduates of the past fifteen years or so were very eager to pursue the subject once they left these walls." Her lips twitched upward again and Hermione had to keep from smiling herself as she realized the inference of her words.  
  
Of course, since Snape had been teaching, the students had been roughly divided into two groups: Slytherins who received passing grades no matter who abysmally they performed in class, and the rest of the student population who were regularly chastised, belittled and bullied until only a very few could even tolerate the sight of a cauldron.   
  
"But, since he reconsidered-" McGonagall began, only to be interrupted by the sudden appearance of an owl through one of the high, open windows of the office. The bird appeared to be in a great deal of hurry, for it landed upon the arm of the Headmistress' chair and held out its claw quite impatiently. She had barely managed to remove the small note when it fluffed its feathers and then hurried back out the window, completely ignoring the treat that Professor Flitwick had held out in his tiny fingers.  
  
"That's rather strange behavior," said Hermione, frowning at the window through which the bird had departed.  
  
"Well, I believe," said Flitwick, placing the tidbit back upon the side of his dish, "That it is Professor Sinistra's owl, so perhaps it has only flown from the Astronomy tower. She was also due back today, was she not, Minerva?"  
  
She nodded her head in reply as she unrolled the piece of parchment and smoothed it out upon the table to read it. By the way her mouth thinned out as she read, they could only deduce that the news it contained was quite unpleasant.  
  
"Something wrong?" Flitwick asked.  
  
Pursing her lips in a most disapproving manner, McGonagall handed the paper to him.  
  
"Oh, my!" he cried after a moment.  
  
"Bad news?" asked Hermione, anxiously.  
  
"Well," allowed Professor McGonagall, accepting the parchment back from Flitwick, who was frowning down at his plate. "Rather unexpected, shall we say."  
  
Hermione felt suddenly uncomfortable, feeling that perhaps the news, whatever it was, concerned matters that were too confidential or too sensitive to discuss in front of her. "Perhaps I should go," she offered, moving to place her napkin on the table.  
  
"No, no, my dear, not at all," cried Flitwick, suddenly bright and cheerful again as he sprang down to the floor. "I know that Minerva and you have things to talk about, and I have many things to attend to myself. I will look forward to seeing you at dinner," he called over his shoulder as he hurried out the door.  
  
A moment later the door had clicked behind him and Hermione turned to look quizzically at the Headmistress.  
  
"It appears," she began sitting back and tiredly removing her glasses, "That Professor Snape has asked Professor Sinistra to assume the role of Head of Slytherin House."  
  
Hermione felt her jaw dropping open with surprise. "But-but," she offered, in a shocked tone of voice as she struggled to make sense of this pronouncement. Taking in a deep breath, she collected her thoughts. "In the first place, I didn't even know that she was a Slytherin," she began.  
  
"Yes, she is the only other staff member at the moment who was a member of that house during her school years," said McGonagall, pinching her nose for a moment before replacing her glasses. "Though that is not, strictly speaking, a requirement for assuming the duties." Seeing Hermione's surprised expression, she continued. "As a matter of fact, Neville Longbottom has already agreed to accept the role of Head of Hufflepuff House this year."  
  
She blinked again in surprise and then reached out to pick up her teacup, sipping at the liquid as she turned these unexpected developments over in her brain. She had always assumed that only former house members were eligible for the positions when they came available, but no one had actually come out and said it was an absolute rule. On the other hand, she had to admit that Neville would be surprisingly fair-minded and undoubtedly well-liked in the position once the shock wore off. He had proven himself to be remarkably resourceful and courageous during the war, earning the grudging respect of all the houses.  
  
"But," she continued, "I must admit that Slytherin House has never had a non-Slytherin as its head."  
  
"Well, in the second place," Hermione sputtered, "I mean she's a wonderful teacher, but-" She hesitated and took a swallow, wondering just how honest she was allowed to be.  
  
"Go on," McGonagall urged.  
  
"She stays up in her tower all the time," she finished. "I mean, how's she supposed to be prowling the halls and watching the students and taking off points and-" She stopped and swallowed again. In other words, how was she supposed to take Snape's place?  
  
She glanced back at McGonagall's face and found, to her surprise, that she was smiling sadly.  
  
"Yes, it does seem quite out of character for Severus to relinquish that power, doesn't it?" Picking up the piece of parchment, she opened it up and frowned as she quickly scanned again. "But, as long as Professor Sinistra has agreed to it, I am afraid there is little I can do to interfere." Sighing heavily, she tossed the parchment to the table. "And I sincerely doubt that Professor Snape is in any mood to discuss the situation with me."  
  
Pushing back from the table, she rose from her chair and began to slowly pace up and down. "You know, Hermione, that Severus and I have always had a fragile relationship at best," she said. "He was a brilliant but difficult student, and I confess that the outright hostility between him and some of his contemporaries made it difficult to remain neutral in their disagreements. Looking back, I can see that there were times when my own prejudices combined with Severus' natural surliness may have compromised my judgment, making me favor other students more than I would like to admit." She paused to and stared down at the floor for a moment before raising her eyes back to Hermione's face. "And once he became Head of Slytherin, the antagonism between us only continued to grow. Not that I will admit to being the only guilty party in that regard."  
  
Sighing again, she walked back to her desk chair and seated herself. "I sincerely believed that when he stormed out of this office that day after giving his resignation, that he would never return."  
  
Hermione slowly turned her chair to face the desk. "Why did he return?" she asked quietly.  
  
"I'm not quite sure," she admitted, shaking her head. "But when I received his letter, inquiring as to whether or not his former position had been filled, I knew that Albus would never forgive me if I turned him away." Clasping her hands in front of her, she allowed another small smile to flit across her lips. "Along with the fact that I truly had not found a suitable replacement, if course."  
  
"However," she continued, sitting back in her chair. "I could also not deny the fact that many of the things he had told me that day were absolutely true. I had been preferential to the Gryffindors in the past, and I was continuing to do so now." She studied the ceiling for a moment before continuing. "Oh, of course I had the excuse that the war had left few people capable enough to teach, plus I did want to surround myself with people I knew well and trusted. And yet-" She lowered her head and looked Hermione directly in the eyes. "If I had heard Severus make the same claim, I would have been highly skeptical that it was anything other than blind House prejudice was influencing his decisions."  
  
Hermione nodded her head thoughtfully. "Hagrid told me some of what went on that day," she said slowly. "But I got the definite feeling that my name might have been mentioned?"  
  
McGonagall studied her carefully. "Are you sure you want to know?" she asked.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Well," she said, looking down at her hands. "When I mentioned that he was desperately needed because I had no one else to teach Potions, he said something along the lines that there was 'a certain little know-it-all Gryffindor who would be ecstatic to show off her expertise in any scholastic field'."  
  
"I see," she said, studying the ground for a moment.  
  
"It's rather a compliment, you know?" she asked, gently. "At any rate, it was certainly nicer than his parting comment to me when I asked him to reconsider his decision, for the sake of the school."  
  
Hermione raised her eyebrows and waited.  
  
"Well," said McGonagall, clearing her throat. "Let us just say that he advised me that, as far as he was concerned, I could take the entire school and place it within a very confined space within my body."  
  
"Oh!"   
  
"And he did not suggest performing a shrinking spell before I attempted it," she added dryly.  
  
  



End file.
